Care
by lilgreenbean
Summary: *Repost*  Stella is in love with Mac, but he's too caught up with Peyton and Aubrey to notice. When she finally confronts him about it, what will he chose? Story is better than the summary, I promise!


_Usual disclaimers: I own nothing, it all belongs to CBS. I'm just borrowing them to play for a while._

_Story re-post - this was originally on my friend Nil1875's page, but since I have my own account now I decided to re-post. Enjoy, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the first time._

* * *

Everyone wants to feel like someone cares.

If asked, Stella Bonasera would have felt reasonably confident stating that someone cared about her. Now, she was starting to wonder.

She and Mac Taylor had known each other now for some 15 years, starting out as partners and rapidly becoming friends. Claire's death on 9/11 had only cemented their friendship further, and over the years it had started to feel like the only stable thing in her life. Growing up in an orphanage hadn't exactly fostered the ability to maintain friendships – even the few people she'd been able to keep in touch with over the years had since died or otherwise dropped out of sight - and choosing a career in law enforcement was equally unsuitable to developing attachments. Even as a CSI their work was dangerous, and each day, each new case carried new risks to all of them.

Hell, even her personal relationships had provided no refuge from the madness – first Frankie, then Drew – she'd all but given up, accepting the fact that the only men she seemed capable of attracting were deeply disturbed at best, and homicidal maniacs at worst.

Yet through it all, there'd been Mac. Certainly they'd disagreed, fought even, but no matter what he had been there for her, a silent support on the rare occasions she would actually admit to needing help (this was usually the point at which she would mentally beat herself about the head for brushing off his offer of a place to stay after the fire in her apartment building – "I snore"? Seriously?).

She'd begun to wonder, as more time passed, whether it wasn't something more than friendship she felt for her partner. He'd been the first person (besides the doctors) who knew about the possible HIV infection – indeed, the only person she'd wanted to tell. Later that same year, when the lab had been taken over by Irish drug lords intent upon recovering their merchandise, when the upper floors exploded and she'd realized that Mac was still inside, she'd been utterly and inexplicably terrified – certainly Mac had proven on dozens of occasions that he could take care of himself, but the sudden awareness that she didn't know where he was, that she might have left him alone to die in their own forensic labs – it felt as though someone had driven a knife right into her chest. She hardly breathed until she saw him again, and yet the relief had lasted only as long as it had taken Peyton to traverse the crowd and fling herself into his arms. She hadn't been able to understand at the time why this had made her feel worse instead of better – he was alive, after all, and mostly unharmed. It hadn't been until the 333 killer, and the revelation that Mac was the true target, that she'd finally started to comprehend what she'd felt that day on the steps. She was falling for her partner. Part of her refusing his offer of a place to stay after the fire had been fear of what she might end up doing or saying to him when continually confined in such close quarters. At least staying in a hotel she could step away from him for a while, try and convince herself that she was overstating things – she wasn't really in love with her best friend. She couldn't be.

It didn't work. When Mac had been taken hostage by Joe Douglas after the botched bank-robbery, she'd been unable to deny her feelings, at least to herself, any further. When she'd heard Mac's voice – slurred, exhausted, but undoubtedly Mac – on the phone she'd felt like a piece of herself she hadn't realized was missing had suddenly slotted into place. And while she cared for her other colleagues deeply, she'd known she wouldn't have felt nearly so frantic if it were one of them in Mac's place.

So she admitted it, to herself at least – she had fallen for Mac Taylor. Hard. And for a while she'd started to feel like maybe it wasn't as one-sided as she'd originally thought – when things had gone all to hell over Diakos and Kolovos, he'd followed her all the way to Greece, despite the blazing argument that had preceded her leaving. After everything that had happened there, she'd started thinking that maybe, just maybe there might be a chance for them.

Yet here they were, almost a year later, and nothing had changed. If anything they were going backwards. Stella had felt threatened enough when Aubrey had turned up, even though Mac swore up and down that they were just friends, but now that Peyton was back? Had Mac completely forgotten that she'd essentially dumped him with a 'Dear John' letter? She certainly hadn't – she'd hurt for him more than she now hurt for herself when she'd discovered it in his office. He'd hardly wanted to hear her name mentioned for months afterwards, yet the minute she reappeared it was as if nothing had happened. And Stella was back to being the best friend – to be relied on, provide support and advice – but nothing more. It was killing her.

She felt discarded, surplus to requirements once again. She didn't want to hate Peyton, _really_ didn't want to hate Mac, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid that knotted, nauseous feeling in her stomach every time she saw them together. Mac looked so happy, happier than she'd seen him in a while though, and she couldn't stand knowing that it was Peyton, and not her, putting the smile on his face.

She had a feeling she wasn't hiding things all that well either – both Sid and Hawkes kept shooting her sympathetic looks that would only make sense if they had figured out how she felt about Mac. They were both deeply perceptive people, and if they did know it didn't altogether surprise her, but the sympathy was actually making her feel worse. It was like conformation of her worst fears – she had waited too long and now Mac was lost to her for good. And to Peyton, of all people.

Now, to top it all off, they were mired in the midst of an absolutely god awful case. Any case involving children was bad, but this one was worse than most. Or maybe it was just that she felt so much worse than usual. It was getting hard to tell the difference anymore, and Stella knew that before much longer Mac would want to know why. Quite how she was supposed to tell him it was his damn fault she had no idea. Once again she was beginning to consider leaving the Crime Lab. When she'd handed in her badge to Mac over the Diakos/Kolovos cluster it had been a spontaneous reaction to the situation – she'd never seriously considered leaving before she did it. This time the idea haunted her – every time she saw Mac with Peyton, every time she felt the stabbing sensation in her chest at the sight of the two of them she just wanted to run, run away and never look back. She'd lost plenty of people in her life before – her mother, friends, the Professor who'd been her mentor for over half her life – but this somehow seemed worse than all of it. It chipped away at her, every minute of every day. She was becoming withdrawn, snapping at anyone who dared try to talk to her, even on work-related matters. Adam had approached her earlier with the results of some tests which were essential to the case, and she'd about taken his head off.

At this point she'd decided to drop all pretence of being able to function, packed up her things and left. She knew by doing so she would be forcing Mac's hand, and the conversation she'd been dreading was now accelerating towards her like a semi with broken brake lines, but she couldn't stay any longer. Adam had done absolutely nothing other than his job, and she'd jumped right down his throat. Whatever was going to happen was going to have to happen tonight – she'd reached the end of her rope.

Curled up on her couch with a half-empty wine glass in her hand (sibling no doubt to the half-empty wine bottle on the coffee table), Stella was at once totally unsurprised and equally unprepared for the insistent knock at her door. A glance at the clock confirmed the lateness of the hour, which meant there was almost certainly only one person it could be. For just a moment she allowed her eyes to close in despair – she didn't want to do this, now or ever. But ignoring him wouldn't change anything in the long run – it would only delay the inevitable. Reluctantly she pulled herself up, and headed for the door. Without bothering to check the peephole, she pulled it open.

She hadn't been wrong about the identity of her late-night caller – Mac stood in the doorway with a look of almost biblical rage on his face (although doubtless to anyone who didn't know it wouldn't be so obvious). Too exhausted to offer even a change in expression, much less a greeting, Stella stepped aside to let him in.

The force of his anger propelled Mac down the hallway and into the living room; the initial cursory survey of the surroundings (force of habit from the Marines, hardly dampened by the years in law enforcement) faltering when he spotted first the wine glass, then the bottle. Stella was not a big drinker to begin with, and even then mostly in social situations. The last time, it occurred to him, that he'd seen her alone drinking wine had been a few years back, when Reed had been following her under the mistaken impression that she was Claire. And that time she'd at least been out in a public place – at home on the couch was not where Stella Bonasera did her drinking. It gave him pause.

Hearing her footsteps behind him, he turned to face her, his anger swelling up again when he remembered why he was here – she had walked out of the lab in the middle of an incredibly time-sensitive case, had told no-one where she was going and had turned her cell phone off almost immediately. Under normal circumstances he would have been concerned – her behaviour of late had been so far out of character that it had escaped no-one's notice (as had been demonstrated to him when trying to determine Stella's whereabouts earlier – everyone had had something to say) – but the case had been getting to Mac too, more than he would admit, and so the anger he would normally have directed towards the perp he now unleashed full-force on Stella.

She stood statue-like, as if frozen to the spot, as Mac directed a tirade of anger and frustration at her. He censured her severely for leaving before the end of her shift, particularly in light of the case they were currently working. He demanded to know her reasons for doing so, not to mention her reasons for being so short-tempered and verbally abusive to her colleagues. It was, without question, the angriest with her he'd ever been, and she felt every word like a knife-strike to her heart.

As his anger finally began to dissipate, Mac had the sudden realization that Stella had said nothing since he'd entered her apartment. Not at the door, not to question his presence, not to defend or excuse herself in any way. He had, probably for the first time in her company, done all the talking.

He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time all day. It made him catch his breath in shock. Stella Bonasera was crying.

She'd felt the tears welling up almost as soon as Mac had opened his mouth. She was exhausted – physically and emotionally – from the roller coaster ride of the last few months, and although she had tried to force them back she had truly nothing left to fight with. She hadn't been able to say a word to defend or excuse herself – everything Mac was saying was true, although he clearly had no idea why – and now she couldn't stop the tears from escaping. It was mortifying; she almost never cried, and certainly not in front of others. And now she couldn't stop herself.

Mac felt frozen in place – he'd made Stella cry. He knew she didn't cry often; had borne witness to some of the few occasions she actually had, but he'd never been the cause of it before. So he stood, with no idea what to do or to say, while his best friend silently sobbed in the corner.

The longer the silence dragged on, Stella's hurt began to morph into anger. How dared he come here, lambaste her like some green lab tech, break her heart and then just stand there like a fool? This was his fault to begin with – if he'd had enough sense to see what was right the Hell in front of him in the first place, instead of falling back into Peyton's arms then none of this would have happened. The anger swelled up, burning in her chest, and as it displaced the pain she embraced it. Her silence finally broke as she unleashed months of pent-up pain and frustration on her partner in a tirade she couldn't have halted even if she'd wanted to. Tears still streaming unacknowledged down her face she denounced him as a fool, a false friend, and a hundred other things besides. Finally she announced her intention to leave the NYPD.

Mac remained frozen – torn between rage and confusion at her accusations. Completely taken-aback he entreated her to explain where this had come from. She was his best friend, he swore, he had never intended her to feel as though she were anything less. Yes, he was angry that she had left the lab in the manner she had, but he was worried about her. He couldn't bring himself to admit, to her or himself, how much the idea of her leaving had shaken him to the very core. He couldn't imagine the lab, New York, hell his life, without her in it, and he truly couldn't fathom where any of this had come from.

Unfortunately Mac's ignorance served only to make Stella feel worse; she spun away from him abruptly, hands in her hair as if it was the last thing anchoring her down. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain control of herself before she said anything else she would inevitably regret. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face Mac, and caught him glancing at his watch as if to check the time.

"Am I keeping you from something?" she snapped. Startled, he dropped his arm.

"No," he started, then changed his mind, "Well, I told Peyton I would meet her..." He stopped abruptly at the look on Stella's face.

"Well," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm "I would certainly hate to be the reason Peyton was kept waiting". She spat Peyton's name as though it were poison, the hatred evident in both her voice and expression. Mac was taken aback.

"This isn't about Peyton," he started.

"The Hell it isn't!" Stella bit back.

"What are you talking about?" Mac was rapidly losing patience again. "Peyton has nothing to do with this; this is about you potentially compromising a case, not to mention the lab."

Stella seemed to deflate right before his eyes. "No, Mac," she all but whispered – he had to strain to hear her. "It is about Peyton, about you, and about me."

He couldn't keep the confusion from his face.

She raised her head, green eyes meeting blue for the first time since he'd stormed into her apartment.

"Has it all meant nothing to you then Mac? The last year, the last two years? Everything I thought we were building – yet the minute someone else shows interest I go back to being the friend, the partner, the confidant. First Aubrey, now Peyton – have you forgotten how she treated you Mac? How can you be so willing to give first chances to strangers, second chances to someone who hurt you, yet you won't give me as much as a second look?"

"Stel...what are you talking about?" Mac's face was a mask of confusion. She dropped his gaze momentarily, as if steeling herself.

"I'm in love with you Mac," she whispered – her voice was full of conviction, but she could barely get the words past the lump in her throat. The frozen, constricted expression on his face at her declaration shattered what was left of her heart into pieces.

Mac felt as though he had been sucker-punched. Of all the things he'd expected to hear when he came over here tonight, what she'd just said hadn't even occurred to him. Yet he didn't doubt her sincerity – one look into her eyes told him she was being completely truthful with him. He just didn't know how to respond.

As the silence extended once again, more of a rejection than any words could possibly be, Stella couldn't take anymore.

"Leave," she pleaded, struggling to maintain some kind of composure. "Just leave".

"Stel," Mac faltered, trying to find words, any words even though he didn't have the faintest idea what he was trying to say. He took a step towards her.

"GET OUT!" At the end of her rope, knowing she couldn't take one more second of his company, Stella screamed at him. She clamped her eyes shut, and faintly she heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway, then the click of her door opening and closing behind him. The relief was almost as strong as the pain, and finally her knees gave out. She crumpled to the floor, not even trying now to stifle the sobs as the realization that she had probably just driven away not only the best friend she'd ever had, but the man she loved who clearly did not love her in return. It took a lot to break Stella, but as she lay on her cold living room floor she felt about as broken as she could possibly get.

The first thing Mac really remembered after Stella's demand for him to leave was the feeling of pavement under his feet. Somehow he had gotten out of her apartment, out of her building and – he paused for a moment to check – several blocks away.

Though it was late night (or possibly early morning by now) it was unseasonably warm, and Mac quickly shed his overcoat as he walked. All thoughts of Peyton had been momentarily driven from his mind in the light of Stella's sudden confession. She was in love with him. It had thrown him completely, but now as he began to think more clearly he realized it shouldn't have. They had been growing progressively closer ever since the first time Peyton had left (and despite what Stella obviously thought he hadn't forgotten how that had ended), and after Greece he had started to wonder himself if there wasn't something more between them than friendship. After all, it hadn't even occurred to him not to follow her – all he'd know was that something had happened to her, she was far away from him and he wanted to help her. It wasn't until later, at Sid's raised eyebrow, that he'd considered it might seem odd to go half-way round the world in pursuit of a friend/work colleague.

So how did they end up here? If he was honest with himself he knew the answer to that already – he was a chicken-shit. A decorated US Marine, who'd faced down who-knows how many criminals since he'd joined the NYPD, and he was afraid to admit to his best friend – who'd never been anything but supportive of him – that he was falling for her. The last woman he'd truly loved had been taken – stolen – from him, along with hundreds of others on one terrible day almost a decade ago. He was afraid, that was the truth of it. He was afraid if he allowed himself to really fall for someone else – for Stella – it would happen again. Somehow or another he would lose her. She was too beautiful, too smart, and too full of life for an introverted, emotionally-unavailable man like him. Far easier to go back to Peyton – who had undoubtedly hurt him but had never meant anything close to what Stella meant to him – or Aubrey, who he had met under circumstances remarkably similar to those under which he'd met Claire, thus allowing him to indulge the fantasy that nothing had changed on 9/11 after all. Far safer than actually having to give his heart to the one person in his life who would actually have the power to break it.

But then, hadn't he just done that to Stella anyway? Hadn't his fear of losing his best friend caused immeasurable pain to her anyway? So what was he achieving, by continuing to run? Judging from tonight, he would lose Stella anyway, seemingly breaking her heart in the process. He flinched at the thought – he would rather break his own heart a thousand times over than do it to Stella even once, yet here he was doing it anyway. Drew had been right – he really was a coward.

He finally paused, suddenly realizing how long he had been walking. Fortunately his long familiarity with the city meant he recognized the cross streets fairly easily. He had apparently been walking in a large, irregular circle – he was closer to Stella's building now that he had been the last time he'd checked. The universe, it seemed (or at least his subconscious) was trying to tell him he already knew where he wanted to be.

Suddenly he remembered his pre-arranged meeting with Peyton, and upon checking his watch realized he was indeed very late. No matter what conclusions he may or may not arrive at, it wasn't right to stand a woman up for no reason, and so he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. At this point, he noted, he had already missed 3 calls from her. Squaring his shoulders, he dialed her number, knowing the next few minutes were not going to be pleasant.

Peyton was deeply displeased at his lateness, and he apologized as sincerely as he could. Apparently easily placated, she turned on the charm and invited him to meet at her place instead, so they could be 'better reacquainted'. The offer made him inexplicably nauseous, and he politely but firmly informed her that, although it had been nice to catch up, he wasn't looking to 'reacquaint' himself with her in that way. Their relationship since her return had been mostly speculative, with a lot of pursuit on her part and a great deal of recalcitrance on his. Now at least he knew why.

His greatest surprise of the night, however, came as he paused to give Peyton time to absorb what he had said; after just a moment's silence she said, very softly "Treat Stella well, won't you Mac? You could have something truly amazing with her."

Shocked beyond measure that apparently even the woman he'd been, albeit casually, dating had figured out where his heart truly lay before he did, he responded automatically, wishing her well. She replied in kind, and ended the call. He stood for a moment, staring at his phone as though he thought it might bite him – this really was a night for revelations. Then he put the phone back into his pocket, determination filling him as he realized he had known what his path was all along. Now he just had to convince Stella.

Stella had remained on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest as she sobbed out all the pieces of her shattered heart, for longer than she could honestly remember. At some indeterminate point, the sobs had begun to slow to hiccups, and she had realized how stiff and cold she felt. Numbly, she had pushed herself up to a sitting position, one hand pushing hair out of her face. Her eyes were dry and scratchy, and her head ached. Her limbs were stiff and sore. Focusing on the physical discomforts she felt allowed her to pretend there wasn't a gaping hole in her chest. She couldn't bring herself to think about what she was now going to have to do - leave her friends, her co-workers, a job and a city she loved. Leave Mac – as hurt as she was the thought of having to leave him made the knot in her stomach tighten painfully.

Instead she decided to focus on fixing what could be fixed now. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head to unknot the muscles. She scrubbed a hand across her face, and decided on impulse to take a hot shower. Maybe the water would wash away the night and let her forget, just for a few minutes. She padded towards the bedroom.

Despite his determination, Mac found himself dragging his feet once he got out of the elevator on Stella's floor. Although he knew what he felt he had no idea how he was going to convince Stella he was serious. The look on her face when she had declared her feelings, and he had said nothing in response, haunted his steps all the way to her door.

He stood before her door for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, trying to brace himself. He had no reason to suppose she would even open the door for him now, and although he had a spare key he was loath to use it. She had trusted him when she gave it to him – doubtless she did not now. But he had to talk to her – even if it achieved nothing she deserved to know that she wasn't out there on that limb alone.

He raised his hand before he could second-guess himself again, and knocked.

Despite her best hopes, the shower had not cleansed away all memories of the night for Stella. It was still there, every dreadful second of it. The only saving grace was that now her body no longer ached, and her head was starting to feel as if it might still belong to her. Dressed in an old academy tee and loose sweats she had flopped down onto her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. She didn't expect sleep to come, but there was nothing else for her to do except lie there and wait for the sun to come up. Maybe she would get lucky and this would all turn out to be a bad dream.

Sadly, it seemed the fates were not going to give her a break just yet – the echo of a knock at the door rattled through the apartment. She sighed, her eyes slipping closed in a silent prayer – to whom and for what she didn't know – before once again pulling herself up and heading for the door.

She didn't check the peephole again – despite her best wishes she knew there was still only one person it could possibly be. She could of course refuse to let him in, but she knew there was no chance she would deny him entrance. However much she was hurting, she was still hopelessly and inescapably in love with him.

So she turned the latch, and pulled the door open.

Mac was startled – he had honestly expected to be either ignored completely, or told in no uncertain terms to get lost. That Stella opened the door to him, and then stepped back to let him in without so much as a murmur of protest spoke volumes. She looked exhausted and smaller somehow, like she'd shrunk or lost weight in the hours since he'd left.

He followed her, with no small amount of trepidation, to the living room.

She sank into the couch without saying a word. It was unusual for Stella to be without words, but this time she really had nothing left. Everything she'd needed to say had been said already – now it was Mac's turn. She could only hope she hadn't let him in so he could break her heart again.

Mac hesitated, the perched carefully on the edge on the opposite end of the couch – he didn't want Stella to feel as though she were being crowded. He paused, trying to find the right words and hoping like hell that it wasn't too late to say them.

"Peyton – it wasn't what you thought," he started, hurrying his words at the expression on her face. "I didn't forget anything – I just..." he trailed off, the words escaping him.

Stella bit her lip in frustration. If Mac didn't figure out a way to get to the point soon then she was done. "I can't keep doing this Mac," the words came out almost without her consent. She raised her head to look him in the eye. "I can't keep sitting here waiting for you to figure out what you want."

He dropped his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Stel," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for all this."

The lump in her throat was back as she braced herself for the impending rejection.

"I'm sorry," Mac continued, "for putting you through this for so long. I'm a coward Stel – Drew was right about that-"

"No! No Mac, don't you dare say that. Drew wasn't right about you at all."

Mac felt his chest tighten as she defended him against his own demons, even though he'd done her so much damage tonight.

"Alright, but I'm still a coward. I shouldn't have let things go on this long – Peyton and I aren't together Stel. I spoke to her earlier and told her as much. I hadn't forgotten how things ended with her, but it was safer to be with her than to admit what I really wanted."

"And Aubrey?" There was a hopeful note in Stella's voice now.

"The way we met reminded me of the way I met Claire," Mac confessed. "It was like reliving the past, pretending that 9/11 never happened. It wasn't real – I haven't seen her for a while now."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I keep apologizing, Stella, because I should have told you this a thousand times before now. It shouldn't have taken you threatening to leave for me to admit this; I should have told you this in Greece, but I convinced myself you'd been through enough. Then Jess was murdered and I lost my nerve completely. I was so focused on not losing anyone else I...I couldn't see that I was losing you anyway by pushing you away. I'm truly sorry Stel."

"Mac..."

"Stella, I love you," the words tumbled out in a nervous rush, and Mac held his breath.

For a moment the room was silent as Stella tried to absorb Mac's words. Despite sensing this was the direction the conversation was going, she still couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She glanced up, and saw Mac tensing as if preparing to be thrown out.

"Say it again," she whispered, looking right at him. His head jerked up in surprise.

"What?"

"Say it again."

He took a deep breath. "I love you Stella Bonasera."

The smile that broke across her face was like the first rays of sunshine after a bad storm. She felt as though an immense weight had suddenly lifted itself off her chest.

"I love you too Mac Taylor. You idiot." She smiled to show she wasn't angry, and Mac snorted at her choice of words. Yes, he had been a colossal idiot, but he'd come to his senses now. It hadn't been too late.

He stood and extended his hand to her. She took, a look of amused confusion on her face, and he pulled her up and into his arms. He smiled as she wound both her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. He kissed her hairline and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair, and thanking whatever deity might happen to be listening that she had been prepared to give him a second chance. Lord knew he hadn't deserved it. Hell, he didn't deserve her, but as long as she wanted him around, he wasn't going anywhere. He was done being a coward.

As the early afternoon sun streamed through a crack in the curtains, Stella shifted slightly as wakefulness crept over here. She screwed up her eyes, trying to shut the light out and hold onto the last vestiges of sleep, then finally gave up. Her eyes opened, and she turned her face towards the window, basking for a moment in the pleasant strangeness of not having to leap out of bed and head straight to work. She arched her back slightly, stretching like a cat, and smiled softly when her outstretched arm encountered resistance.

Turning her head to the other side, her smile widen to almost impossible proportions as her gaze alighted on the sleeping form of Mac Taylor. The sun hadn't as yet disturbed his rest, and she was loath to do it instead. Lord knows she knew how hard it was for him to get enough sleep, even now. Instead, she rolled over and snuggled into his side, her chest tightening when he reflexively wrapped one arms around her to pull her closer. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and inhaled slowly. Definitely not going anywhere for a while.

If asked, Stella Bonasera wouldn't have felt especially confident stating that someone cared about her. Now she had no reason to wonder anymore.


End file.
